Silver Lining
by LouiseKurylo
Summary: AU: What if Jane's family didn't die in the way he had thought? After Red John's demise, Jane and Lisbon talk about their life together and about how things might have been different if Jane knew one key fact about his past.
1. Chapter 1 - Domesticity

**Silver Lining (AU)  
**

**Who:** Lisbon, Jane

**What:** An unexpected discovery about the death of Jane's family

**When:** Sometime after the death of Red John (AU)

**Where:** Their apartment in Sacramento

**Why**: What if his family didn't die in the way he thought?

**Disclaimer:** I own no part of The Mentalist TV series, characters, scripts, etc.

* * *

**AU: What if Jane's family didn't die in the way he thought? After the demise of Red John, Jane and Lisbon talk about their lives together and how things might have been different if Jane knew one key fact.  
**

* * *

Lisbon pulled into her parking space at their apartment building, glad the workweek was finally over. She walked past the cars to the lobby and frowned, noting the Citroen was parked cater‑cornered to the lines and too close to the next car. _Sloppy for Jane._ Lisbon walked past the mailboxes to the elevator, then paused and stepped back to check for mail. The mail was still there. _Either he was in a rush_ _or he got home before the mail came. Wonder what's up._

Lisbon locked the apartment door and put her briefcase and purse on the foyer table. She found Jane asleep in bed. She was surprised to see his clothes piled haphazardly on the nearest chair. _Odd._

"Jane?" No response. She lightly touched his shoulder. He felt unusually warm and she felt his forehead. _Hot. Sick?_ Jane groaned but didn't wake. Lisbon fetched the tympanic thermometer and got a reading without waking him: _102 degrees. Pale, drawn, sweating a little, breathing shallow and fast. Flu. Nasty strain going around._ She tucked the sheet and blanket around his shoulders and left him to sleep undisturbed.

Friday was the first of six days in bed.

~.~.~.~

Lisbon was reading the Saturday newspaper with her morning coffee when she heard Jane stirring. He was brushing his teeth in the master bathroom when she stepped in.

"Good morning. How do you feel? You slept 16 hours!"

"I feel like I look," he said, rinsing his mouth out. He cupped his hand to drink from the faucet. He shivered as his arm accidently touched the cool granite.

Lisbon got the thermometer out of the drawer. "Hold still while I take your temperature. You _look_ like death warmed over."

"That's better than I feel."

"No wonder. Your temperature is over 102." Her forehead wrinkled with worry. "Maybe we should go to the emergency room."

"Don't be silly. I'm not under one, over 60, or pregnant. I can sleep in the hospital for a thousand bucks a night, or do it here, free. You go. I'm going back to bed."

"Jane, you are an awful patient. Here, take some aspirin to get the fever down." She fished the aspirin bottle out of the bathroom closet and handed him two tablets, which he took with more water. "I set out water and vitamin C on your night stand. Also, there are three types of juice in the refrigerator–orange, cranberry, and apple. You know–drink plenty of fluids."

He scowled at her. "Enough. Don't nag." He slid his hand along the wall for balance as he walked back to the bed. "Good night." Jane spent the rest of Saturday in bed, getting up only to use the bathroom.

~.~.~.~

By Sunday, Jane had added a dry cough to his other symptoms. As the day wore on, his temperature inevitably rose. She sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Jane, your temperature is 103 degrees. I get worried at anything over 102."

Groggy. "Can't I just be sick in peace?"

Firmly, "No. You have two choices. Either go to the emergency room. Or, get your temperature down by taking a cool bath."

Annoyed, "I'm not four. Just let me be!"

"You're acting like four. I'll be back as soon as I fill the tub."

She returned 10 minutes later. "Come on. Gotta do this." She took his arm and coaxed him out of bed to the main bathroom. She had turned the apartment's thermostat up and the bathroom was steamy, but he still shivered as he pulled his shorts off.

Jane dipped his hand in the nearly full tub. "Ah! It's cold!"

"It's tepid. It just feels cold because of your fever."

He slowly eased into the water, grimacing at the shock of the cooler water on his skin. "Wait." Lisbon laid a bath towel against the back slope of the tub and folded a hand towel as a pillow. "Now lean back."

"Thanks." Jane leaned back, eyes closed, submerged up to his neck. The waves of shivering tapered off and finally stopped.

After half an hour, Lisbon took his temperature again. "It's down–under 102. Good."

He opened his eyes. "How 'bout that? I feel a little better, too. Well, while I'm here, might as well clean up." He got up, let the water drain while getting the faucet temperature just right, then showered. Lisbon got him bath towels, fresh underwear, and a throw blanket. After drying off, he had juice and toast in the kitchen. Lisbon asked if he wanted any of the dinner she had prepared. He paled and swallowed hard to keep down what he'd eaten. He returned to bed.

~.~.~.~

By Monday, Jane's temperature stayed below 102 degrees and Lisbon was comfortable leaving him to go to work. She left a few books and articles on his night stand in case he wanted to read. He still had the cough, but felt and looked better.

"Hi, Marin County Police Department? Chief Reinholdt, please. ... Could you give him a message? Patrick Jane will be out with the flu, at least for the first part of this week. ... I'm Agent Teresa Lisbon with the CBI. He can call me at 398-1517 if there are any questions. Thank you."

When she got home, Jane had dressed and was sitting on the sofa. He was asleep, but joined her in the kitchen when she made dinner for herself. He drank juice and tea.

Neither got much sleep that night because he coughed whenever he lay down. The OTC cough suppressants suppressed nothing. Jane considerately relocated to the living room after midnight, but his coughing still kept her awake.

~.~.~.~

Both rose early Tuesday morning. They weren't getting much sleep anyhow. Lisbon was merely tired. Worried, she noted Jane looked worse. Still sick, the lack of sleep had set him back. When she left for work he was dozing, sitting upright on the sofa under a throw blanket.

Lisbon called Jane's primary care doctor from work. She talked him into prescribing codeine to quell Jane's coughing, despite the doctor's reservations about prescribing an opiate without an exam. She knew he wouldn't have done it without her CBI credentials, Jane's lack of drug use/abuse problems, and Jane's well‑known reluctance to see doctors. She used her lunch hour to fill the prescription and get more OTC decongestant.

When Lisbon got home, Jane was asleep at the kitchen counter, head on folded arms on top of the newspaper. There was an empty juice glass and half a cup of tea. He took the codeine immediately and she knew the coughing had been making him miserable. At least the congestion in his chest was breaking up and the coughing was doing some good. He sat at the kitchen counter as she made dinner for herself. Jane still turned down her offer of food, but was feeling well enough for real conversation.

"Thanks, Lisbon. Sorry to be so much trouble. I know I'm a pain in the ass when I'm sick."

"Only then? Hadn't noticed much difference." Her smile took the sting out of the words. More seriously, "Jane, I can do this TLC stuff with my eyes shut. I spent 20 years raising my younger brothers, remember? Besides, it's actually kinda comforting to be worrying about ordinary problems."

"As opposed to–?"

"Red John. Organized corruption. Death threats."

"Hard to disagree when you put it that way." He sipped his juice. Frowning, "Teresa, you _did_ spend 20 years raising your brothers."

"Sure. You knew that."

"I hadn't thought about it that way... Umm, how do you feel about taking on another 20-year commitment to raise our family?"

She looked at him in surprise. "We talked about this. We both want children."

"Do _we_? Or are you just going along knowing how much I want kids?"

Lisbon put down the hot pan holder and turned to face him. She paused a moment, taking the care to organize her thoughts commensurate with the weight of the question. "This is important. Not just about kids, but about anything major. I am _not_ just going along. In fact, I'm surprised you'd think I was."

"Just concerned. I want to be sure I'm not unreasonable because of my needs."

"Jane, I _own_ my decisions. I'm not going to agree to something, then claim you made me do it."

"Never thought you would. Having a family is a huge commitment. You've already stepped up to raise your brothers."

"My options weren't great. But that was my choice. I don't regret keeping the kids together rather than going the foster care route."

"What do _you_ want, Teresa? Kids are a big complication for women with demanding careers. I don't want to get my way at your expense."

"You won't. I want kids _with you_ and I've wanted that for years. I'd think long and hard before buying into a traditional marriage. I've seen you with kids. -I've seen you in every conceivable situation over the last 10 years. I'm confident I won't end up doing most of the work. Am I wrong?"

"No."

"Marriage should be a win-win proposition. We help each other get the most we can out of life. We're marrying because what we want is largely compatible. You're slippery about a lot of things. But once you accept an obligation, I've never known anyone go to greater lengths to live up to it."

He sighed. "Comforting. I do want kids. I'm glad you want them, too."

It was a quiet night. Both turned in early to make up for the previous night. Since Jane was able to sleep without coughing, they both had a good night.


	2. Chapter 2 - The Unexpected

On Wednesday, Lisbon got stuck working late. After a long ad hoc meeting with her boss, she finally left at eight and was anxious to get home and check on Jane. She decided against calling on the way in case he was asleep.

"Hi, Jane. Glad you're up." She closed the door, shed her jacket and put down her briefcase. Jane was sitting on the sofa. "How are you feeling?" She was pleased to see he had both shaved and dressed. Plus he was reading. _Good signs._

He looked up. "Hi, Lisbon. Better." He sipped tea. "Not a hundred percent, but I'm tired of being in bed."

She stepped over to give him a kiss. He turned his head, ensuring her kiss landed on his cheek. "You don't want to get this."

"Too late. I would have been infected before your symptoms even appeared, not to mention the last five days. I think I dodged that bullet." She kissed him again, reinforcing her point. She put her hand on his forehead. "Looks like your fever broke. Can you keep anything down?"

"Toast. A muffin."

"You're staying home the rest of the week, right?"

He tilted his head noncommittally. "Thought I might go in tomorrow. I _am_ supposed to be consulting with the Marin County PD on a case."

"Reality check: Bored isn't the same as recovered. Remember when you got really sick a few years ago?"

"It's not that bad. And I'm over the hump with this."

"Stubborn as usual." She put her hand on his shoulder. "It's time you remember _everything_, not just the version you'd like to be true. Last time, you didn't give yourself long enough to recover and ended up with walking pneumonia. That dragged it out another two weeks. Be reasonable!"

Jane said nothing, suddenly distracted, attention wholly elsewhere.

"Jane? Hello?"

After a moment, "Hmm? Uh, just something I can't quite remember–" He shook his head sharply, dismissing it. He got up with his cup and saucer for more tea. "Have you eaten?"

Feeling better, Jane joined Lisbon for dinner. After dinner Lisbon showered and washed her hair–always a major undertaking because it took so long to dry–and decided to turn in early. Having gotten up late in the afternoon, Jane wasn't sleepy and stayed up. Neither well nor sick enough to stay in bed, he turned down the lights and listened to jazz.

~.~.~.~

An anguished cry startled Lisbon out of a sound sleep. She reached the bedroom door before being fully awake. Jane stood in the living room, stiff with tension, face marred by grief.

"Jane, what's wrong?"

"I remember. I remember everything," he said, voice rough with emotion.

"What is it? Are you okay?"

Jane slowly sank down to the sofa. "My god." He looked up at her. "It's all made up, Teresa. Red John. I can hardly believe it."

"What's going on?" Dazed, he didn't reply. After a moment, "I'll get tea. Then you tell me what's going on." Lisbon heated water for tea and instant coffee. She brought their drinks into the living room and set them on the sofa table. Jane was calmer but still seemed stunned.

He sipped the tea. "You stumbled on the trigger for a post-hypnotic suggestion."

"Suggestion to do what?"

"You said, 'time to remember everything'–or close enough. That was the trigger."

"You remembered something?"

He stretched, trying to relieve suddenly-painful tension in his shoulders. "A post-hypnotic suggestion made me forget certain things for the past 10 years."

"You've lost me."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and rubbed his forehead. Slowly, "Angela and Charlotte weren't killed by Red John–"

"What?!"

"–They were in a car accident. They came to LA for dinner with me after I was a guest on a show. We drove back separately. A tire blew out and their car crashed." He swallowed, unable to continue as he re-lived the memory. He wiped tears off his face and went on. "They died instantly. There was nothing I could do. It was horrible." He had to stop. He got up, went into the kitchen and splashed cold water on his face. After regaining his composure he returned to the living room.

"I'm sorry, Jane." Lisbon hugged him. "How is that possible?"

"The Red John murders were a cover story."

"Walk me through this because it isn't making sense." She looked at him closely. He seemed lucid, clear-headed despite having been sick, despite the fantastic story.

Jane paused to organize his thoughts. "Teresa, I am what you–we–thought. There's just more to the story. Everything about my past till age 13 is the same."

"Then what happened?"

"Remember our conversation after Virgil and May's dinner? You had a lot of ideas to hash out."

"Yes. So?

"You were right. National security agencies do–or at least did–systematically identify teenagers with special talents. Good catch."

"What agencies?

"CIA."

"You're involved with the CIA? Oh my God."

"Yeah." He closed his eyes, struggling to absorb the new bits of his past. "The CIA _did_ contact me after I was in foster care. I didn't become an agent–not what they want-but I've done occasional jobs for them since I was 21. My life is pretty much what I had remembered, just with sporadic CIA assignments."

"What about being a psychic? What about all the things you know from that?"

"That's all real. Being a psychic–a _fake_ psychic-comes from my carny days. That helped. I could travel and set my own schedule without anyone missing me." He drank more tea and half-smiled in sudden realization. "Huh. My drinking tea came from an assignment in England." He blinked, and re-focused on their conversation.

"What does the CIA have to do with California law-enforcement?"

"After the 9‑11 attack, all Federal intelligence agencies were put under Homeland Security. Homeland suspected widespread, organized corruption in California's law‑enforcement agencies‑‑the state FBI office, the CBI, and even local PD's. They're interested because corrupt agencies are vulnerable to blackmail and being co‑opted by terrorists."

"How does that have anything to do with the death of your family and Red John?"

"Homeland knew about the car crash within the hour. My CIA contact realized it was a unique opportunity for me to infiltrate the CBI."

"God, Jane. Your family died and your CIA contact is thinking about how to use that? Cold bastard."

"Somewhat. I went along because it was a way something good could come from their deaths. It was a distraction from what happened. I couldn't go back to life as usual."

"What was the plan?"

"Homeland covered up the car crash. I went on TV the next day to talk about Red John–"

"How could you even function?"

"I was numb. It was a way of _not_ thinking, _not_ feeling. After my TV appearance, Homeland staged the Red John murders at my house. As cover-ups go, it was pretty straightforward. Just a few people knew the truth and the deaths were sudden and real anyhow. Our friends and relatives just got a different story about how they died."

Lisbon didn't bother to hide her tears. "Jane, they used you, your tragedy. You've been left to think you caused their deaths for ten years. Ten years obsessed with a serial killer."

He shook his head. "It wasn't supposed to be for so long. I agreed to it. No one forced me."

"If you can own that you're a better person than I am. I think it's exploitation," she said fiercely, angrily.

"I agreed to be hypnotized to forget the CIA and the car crash. Instead, I 'remembered' the Red John murders."

"Then you managed to get hired as a CBI consultant to work with my team. —Was my unit targeted? Did they think my team was dirty?!"

"No. You just had the Red John case. That was my pretext for being at the CBI."

Her training kicked in and Lisbon ticked off the advantages. "I see how a CBI consultant is ideally positioned to investigate. You're in contact with all levels inside the CBI. You frequently meet with the FBI and local PD's. The agents and cops dismiss and underestimate you as an amateur and vigilante. You have a lot of unstructured, unsupervised time–no regular work hours. And you could investigate almost anything under the cover of hunting Red John."

"Minelli agreed to share information on the Red John case with the FBI, which passed it on to Homeland. That made the FBI less likely to separately investigate me. Plus, Homeland then knew what the FBI knew about Red John and me."

"Neat set-up. But what happened? You focused on Red John, not corruption."

"Something went wrong. Homeland lost control of the operation. Ultimately, I _did_ uncover organized corruption but Red John was my priority. Remember, I didn't know the truth. Maybe they didn't understand how I'd react when I thought Red John killed my family. Sophie Miller did the hypnosis and was the link to my real memories. Perhaps that went awry even before she was killed. And Bob Kirkland had his own Red John agenda."

"So you ended up hunting Red John instead?"

"Red John knew my family's deaths had nothing to do with him. He must have figured out why I was at CBI. Maybe the corrupt law-enforcement group somehow threatened him so he tolerated me. Or maybe he just enjoyed the cat-and-mouse. It all got more complicated once I made progress toward identifying Red John."

"What a mess. You had two groups out to get you. And the CIA in the background."

"Now that both Sophie and Kirkland are out of the picture, I'm cut loose from any contact with the CIA or Homeland. We nailed Red John and the corruption is gradually being cleaned up. But the CIA has no way to get me back as a sometimes-useful tool."

Lisbon took a deep breath then asked quietly, "Do you _want_ to reconnect with the CIA? I've heard it's ruthless–both against enemies and to its own people, especially if you cross any lines."

Jane leaned back and sat stone still. Lisbon left him be, knowing a lot of thinking was being done at lightening speed. Shaking his head slowly, he finally replied, "No, I don't want to reconnect with the CIA. It _is_ ruthless because it has to be. I'm lucky the CIA didn't decide to cut its losses when it lost control over me."

Lisbon paled. "'Cut its losses'? Kill you?"

He nodded. "Like you said, ruthless. I'm not the same person I was ten years ago..." He drifted off into silence then came back to the present with a start. He took her hand and squeezed it gently. "I want to live my life with you and have a family. The work I do for CBI and other organizations is interesting and satisfying enough. If I want anything to do with the CIA, it needs to be a fresh start, as though I remember nothing."

Fear lanced through her. She whispered, "Do you have a choice? Will the CIA leave you alone?"

He slowly answered, "I think so or it already would have acted. I think I'm okay so long as the CIA believes I don't remember. I'm expected to keep my connection secret. What we've discussed can't go any further or I may have an unfortunate accident."

Lisbon's gaze didn't leave his face. _Sounds like a bad movie but he's serious. My God._ Suddenly paranoid, she looked around the apartment. "How do you know our place isn't bugged?"

"Because I check every week."

"What?!"

"After Red John and the FBI surveillance, I've gotten a lot more cautious."

Lisbon smiled through her concern, "I'd say 'paranoid' in any other situation."

"I think this is private, at least for today. We can't talk openly about this again. It will continue to be a threat– for a few years, anyhow."

"Years!"

"From what I saw, the stakes are ten-fold greater and the game is played way more viciously than anything at the CBI or even FBI."

"Jane, if you worked for them–"

Dismayed, "I _did _work for them. You don't believe me?"

She shook her head, "Sorry, that's not what I meant." She tried again, more carefully. "Having done work for the CIA, were you trained?"

"The CIA wanted what I already am for special projects–reading people, going places that regular agents would look out of place. I was a con man with a sketchy background. I don't have a college degree and could never pass the background check to become an agent. So, no, I didn't go through the regular training, whatever that is."

"You weren't even given basic firearms and martial arts training?"

He shrugged. "I learned the basics about firearms. I turned down the martial arts stuff."

"But you hate firearms!"

"That may be another post-hypnotic suggestion. A carny psychic wouldn't know about firearms or martial arts. That would have given me away at the CBI. Plus, if I'm not good at it, better to stay completely away from weapons and fighting or I'd get myself killed."

"Probably. Jane, how long are post-hypnotic suggestions effective? You surprised Cho recently by being more comfortable with guns than you used to be. And you were able to jimmy Cody Benbow's 9 mm so it wouldn't fire."

"Studies are all over the map. Most weaken in minutes. There are reports of some remaining effective for years–seven years, as I recall. Mine lasted ten years. Sophie was very good at what she did. But, yeah, the block on firearms knowledge might be weakening."

"You didn't have a nervous breakdown?"

'No. It was still a rough time. Sophie helped me come to terms with their deaths. I didn't have all the issues from Red John, of course."

Angrily, "You _did_ have to cope with Red John issues once the false memory was in place."

"Don't be angry. I bought into it."

"Jane, I've seen you tortured with guilt for ten years over that. And you could have been killed many times trying to get Red John. _Of course_ I'm angry." She took a breath and released it slowly, trying to rein in her emotions. She changed the subject. "How do you know there aren't more blocked memories?"

"I don't."

"Don't you want to know?"

Jane sat quietly thinking about her question. "I would like to know, but I'm not sure it's worth the risks. Also, with an ethical hypnotist, I would have approved everything beforehand."

Acidly, "I know she helped you, but Sophie committed fraud when she did research for Stutzer. This was for the CIA!"

Sidestepping arguing about Sophie, "It would take a top-notch hypnotist to even poke around and see if there might be more blocks. I don't know who to trust, especially if there was something more about the CIA or Homeland."

"Royston Daniels?"

"I don't trust him mucking around in my head. I don't trust him to keep secrets about the CIA. Too risky."

"Even if I were present while he worked with you?" Jane shook his head. "Then where do we go from here?"

"I think we just leave it alone. I don't see an up-side to opening that door." He sighed and closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted.

"Jane, you don't have to feel guilty anymore. You played no part in their deaths."

"Yeah."

"Don't just know it intellectually, _feel it_, too!"

"After all these years it'll take getting used to. Regardless, I'm a better person because of it."

"You're a fine person. With a little more time, I think you would have abandoned the psychic con anyhow. Angela encouraged you to give it up, right? She always brought out the good in you."

"Come here," he said softly. He hugged her tightly, glad to have someone as his life skidded into even more complexity.

"It'll be okay, Jane. I'm glad you know the truth about Angela and Charlotte. Now your good memories aren't tinged with guilt."

They sat quietly together in the dim living room. Jane mulled over the bittersweet fact of the accident in his mind. The room gradually brightened with the rising sun.


	3. Chapter 3 - For The Best Anyhow

Lisbon and Jane sat at a table on the restaurant's outdoor patio, finishing their lunches after running weekend errands. She had prevailed, convincing Jane to delay returning to work till next week.

"Umm, concerning what we talked about last week–"

Jane looked up from his food, worry creasing his forehead.

"I'll be discrete. Jane, what's going on? You're still acting like it was your fault."

"Because it _could_ have happened just that way. I've been walking across the Grand Canyon on a 2x4 for decades. My smart-ass comments could have led to exactly that result. It just didn't hit me till after their deaths."

She stared in amazed dismay. "Now you're feeling guilty for what _could_ have happened? Stop already! -You don't feel cheated, betrayed?"

"For?"

"Ten years of hell, of thinking your comments led Red John to kill your family."

"My family died. It was hell no matter what."

"But you didn't need guilt added to it."

Slowly, "Maybe I did."

"What?!"

"A lot of good came of it."

She sighed. "You took down a serial killer. Who knows how many more lives he would have taken or wrecked. And you disrupted the network of corrupt cops and agents."

"Yeah, yeah," he waved that aside. "I meant _you_." He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on her cheek.

"I'm flattered, but what do you mean?"

Sadness washed over him and subsided equally suddenly. "Angela and Charlotte were dead, regardless. My world was looking pretty grim. If it didn't unfold the way it did, the odds of our meeting would be small."

"You have a point."

Warming to his train of thought, "Con man and up-tight cop? The only other way we would have met is if you arrested me."

She grinned. "Probably. Plus I'd have been more wary."

"Wary?"

Teasing, "Think of the stereotype. I'm not naive. Men as handsome and charming as you are attract, use, and throw away women like paper towels at a picnic. That's why Sam was so opposed to you."

"Hey! Bosco was jealous and in love with you himself." He bridled with false umbrage. "And I'm not superficial!"

She smiled. "You aren't, but how would I have known?"

"You took your time becoming convinced."

"I _fought_ falling for you-for lots of practical reasons. Not to mention your still being in love with Angela and obsessed with Red John. But it was inevitable. Like trying to keep the sun from rising."

Softly, "Glad you didn't succeed."

"Me too."

Jane pulled her close and gave her a real kiss. Then he continued the entertaining scenario. "And how would I meet the team if I hadn't come to find out about Red John?"

Her eyes sparkled in amusement. "I can definitely see Cho busting you."

"Cho... Yeah, I'd never have become friends with him any other way. Remember when I nearly drowned and lost my memory?"

"Yes?"

"Cho was the most skeptical. He 'got' that I was a hustler without my family's deaths. The rest of you gave me way too much benefit of the doubt."

"Cho has good instincts."

He looked at her. "No, not what you're thinking."

Annoyed, "And what is that?"

"It's not that Cho has better instincts. It's that he was less invested in my not being a hustler. It's just like you, me, and Lorelei. She played me because I _wanted_ to believe she'd give up Red John. You were under no such illusion!"

Returning to her original point, softly, "So you're genuinely not sorry you spent all those years thinking it was your fault?"

"I'm genuinely happy with where I ended up." He swallowed before he could continue. "What are the odds of finding a _second_ person as fine as Angela?"

"Hush. You're gonna make me cry."

"I'll stop. I'd rather make you happy." He picked up their trays with one hand and pulled her to her feet with his other, breaking the tension.


End file.
